


Morning After

by Charnia



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charnia/pseuds/Charnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One possible version of Alistair's reactions after the events in "Power Games", part of Aroihkin's Silver and Scarlet series (http://archiveofourown.org/series/3776).  In "Power Games" Alistair kind of stumbles into a threesome with Zevran and Tannusen, this is what could have happened the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aroihkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aroihkin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Power Games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/98495) by [Aroihkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aroihkin/pseuds/Aroihkin). 



Alistair awoke feeling completely relaxed, a lazy, comfortable feeling he usually associated with sleeping in late on holidays in the Chantry. Then he opened his eyes and froze with horror, his relaxed mood evaporating like water in a blast furnace.

Tannusen was lying next to him on his side an arm’s length away, his back to Alistair. And last night Tannusen had . . . and Zevran. . . Alistair groaned, quickly stifling the sound so he wouldn’t wake Tannusen. There was no one else in the bed, or in the room, he saw as he looked around nervously. Zevran had already left. Maybe if he was careful he could dress and sneak out before Tannusen awoke, and if the Maker had mercy he wouldn’t run into Zevran. Or—oh Maker, he’d spent the night in their room, what if Leliana or Morrigan saw him in the hall? Or, worse, _Wynne_? Alistair covered his face with both hands, trying to calm his pounding heart.

He was about to carefully slip out of bed when he realized yet another reason he couldn’t simply sneak out. As usual, he’d woken up hard. This wasn’t normally a problem, usually he’d wake up and, well, take care of things before getting dressed and going out. But he couldn’t do that with Tannusen asleep right there. But then the alternative of being seen early in the morning coming out of Tannusen and Zevran’s room _rampant_ just didn’t bear thinking. He could wait, let it go down on its own. But he didn’t relish the thought of Tannusen waking up and finding him like that, naked in bed with him. Alistair groaned again. There was only one thing to do, finish as quick as possible, and then sneak out, and hope no one caught him.

He grasped his length and began stroking, cautiously to avoid shaking the mattress. He never thought of any girl in particular when he was doing this (that just seemed rude, to think of someone he knew in that way) but did think of some imaginary girl, with soft curves and dark hair. He found himself thinking how it would feel to have her mouth on him, warm and wet. Memory fueled his imagination, and he could almost feel the suction, her tongue molding itself along his length, the tickle of flaxen hair brushing against his skin—

He guiltily stilled his hand and turned his head towards Tannusen, checking to make sure he was still resting quietly. The blanket was pulled down his arm, baring his shoulder, and his fine white-blond hair was spread out on the pillow. Alistair could see through a parting of his hair on the back of his neck a mark, two curving purple-red lines, fresh bruises. He remembered Zevran biting Tannusen, how he’d gasped and his eyes had gone wide, how he’d thrust back against Zevran, struggling to pull away from Alistair’s hands on his face, yet still keeping his eyes fixed on Alistair’s—how he’d finally spilled his seed, hot and wet across Alistair’s stomach.

The memory made him rock-hard, and he started stroking again, faster now, too aroused to be concerned that these thoughts excited him. All thoughts of the imaginary girl vanished, replaced by the memory of Zevran’s hand encircling him, of Tannusen’s tongue against his thumb, of Tannusen’s mouth— The climax was sudden, unexpected, and intense. He barely managed to raise his forearm to his mouth in time to stifle a moan, lifting his hips off the mattress as his body went rigid.

Breathless, he slumped back onto the bed, and immediately felt a wave of shame rolling over him. He’d masturbated while thinking of another _man_! Of _two_ men! Unbidden he remembered again the sight of Tannusen’s face as Zevran thrust slowly into him, and for a fleeting moment wondered what it would feel like to be in Zevran’s place. “Andraste help me,” Alistair muttered, furrowing his brow as he tried to wipe the images out of his mind.

He cautiously sat up, looking for something to clean himself off with. Last night they hadn’t bothered . . . oh Maker, if you didn’t count Tannusen licking Zevran’s fingers clean. . . Alistair found he still had dried seed on his stomach, from himself and Tannusen. In desperation he wiped himself off with the sheets, since they already would need laundering. It was only after he had done that that he realized he’d just left fresh . . . evidence. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he hissed, thumping his forehead with the heel of his hand. Nothing to be done about it now.

He crept out of bed, dressing quickly. And he’d forgotten about his armor! There was no way he could leave his armor there, but he was almost guaranteed to wake Tannusen with the clanking metal. With no alternative, he carefully put it on piece by piece, until he only had an armload to carry.

He looked at Tannusen one more time to make sure he had not awakened, but the elf hadn’t moved. In the quickly brightening morning light he saw two white stripes across Tannusen's shoulder, barely lighter than his pale skin. Scars from a whip, perhaps? He remembered what Zevran said, _there are old marks, all over his body_.

Alistair was caught off guard by a strange protective feeling towards Tannusen. He shook his head. As if the mage _needed_ someone to protect him. Thoroughly rattled, he opened the door and peered outside. No one was around, so he quickly stepped out into the empty hall.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and locked behind him that he realized he’d forgotten his boots.

  


Alistair escaped out the door, and the latch clicked shut behind him. Lying in the bed alone, seemingly asleep, Tannusen didn’t move, but a smile slowly spread across his face.


End file.
